Dragoncrest Cliffs Andalusite

Drageda wasn't exactly home as he knew it, but there certainly was something about it that made it feel comfortable. He found the cold winds agreeable, and liked the way the salt tickled his nose. He had been worried that he would have come upon a pack completely alien to him, but other than their surrounding environment, everything seemed normal, and thus Melchior was pleased. He had promptly set to work, not wanting to seem like a slacker under the stern gaze of the hedonakru. As a young wolf, he was obligated to further hone his skills, and prove himself as a valuabe member of the pack.

His first line of duty was to patrol, roaming the territory to ensure that no strangers of ill-intent lurked on the borders, nor any unwated creatures had attempted to move into a place that belonged to the wolves. Short of a few sly seagulls that found it absolutely hilarious to harass him, his patrol was outwardly uneventful. Of course, Melchior had ulterior motives to the patrol. He was excited to see all the new things, all the strange plants and life forms that were native to his new home. He had mentally mapped the area, and noted all the nooks where herbs and plants seemed to grow. Although it would surely take him several days of patrol to fully appreciate what his home had to offer, he was glad to start somewhere.

It was even better, still, when he found a packmate digging among foliage, uprooting rather sad looking purple flowers. Even wilted, he knew, some plants could be useful. If they had no particular use at all, then at the very least they were a lovely colour, and immediately, Melchior began to day dream of the beautiful pigments he could make. Approaching at a leisurely pace, he stopped before the monochromatic wolf, ears perked in a friendly manner, although otherwise respectful, for he had not yet earned his right to be casual with anyone other than Arlo. What are those? He asked, so gentle and curious.